


Apostate's Courage

by TheBrandenRose



Series: The Chains We Carry [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26095705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrandenRose/pseuds/TheBrandenRose
Summary: For Anders, most of his life had been spent running away from places and people that sought to confine him. She was the first person he ever wanted to run towards, and it scared him better than the Brand.
Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke
Series: The Chains We Carry [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914760
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Apostate's Courage

Anders stood in front of Hawke’s estate, his heart pounding like he'd ran for his life. The night was silent, save for the cricket-song that floated in the summer air and the whispers of leaves disturbed by a lazy breeze. It’d been an oddly easy trek to her place; Kirkwall’s night streets were infamous for bandits and thieves, but he’d encountered none as he made his way through Hightown. Perhaps Hawke’s work was paying off. 

Still, Hightown’s streets were no comfort. The Gallows was the only place in Kirkwall that made him more nervous. Walking amongst the city’s nobility, even with Hawke and her other companions, made him feel out of place and more like a target for anyone who wished to dump an apostate on Meredith’s doorstep. Add to that the notable presence of the city guard, shielding his face was a near necessity. Their numbers were fewer at night, but the lack of crowds to hide in made him look over his shoulder more often than usual. As much of a shithole Gamlem’s place was, at least it was less conspicuous.

He gazed at her door, mind swirling with a hundred thoughts. There was a chance it was unlocked. There was also a chance it wasn’t. He wasn’t sure which he preferred.

_ “If your door is open tonight, I will come to you _ ,” he’d told her. “ _ If not, I know you took my warning at last.” _

And he’d warned her countless times of who he was - a hunted apostate fused with a vengeful spirit of Justice - yet she’d stayed with him, refusing to leave his side. It was a testimony to her character, even if it was misguided. In spite of her refusal, he spent years holding himself back, not lending an ounce of trust to himself to interfere with her life. Yet here he was, about to fall deeper into a pit that would certainly kill them both.

Anders’s stomach churned. He wanted to turn back. He almost did twice on the way there. A part of him was screaming, begging him to run. Another part, one that surprised him the most, told him to stay. If he was ever threatened by the Brand, it was best to show her how he felt before the Templars could take that away. It was the most selfish he’d been in a long time.

Suddenly, Anders fell into a daze, as if someone had snapped their fingers to conjure the image of Ella - the girl he almost killed - into his mind.

_ “Get away from me, demon!” she yelled, backing away.  _

_ Anders could hear and see, but his movements were not his own. He felt like a puppet on strings as Justice compelled his body to stomp towards the girl, the spirit’s anger a blue fire that seared through his skin. _

_ “ _ **_I am no demon_ ** _ ,” Justice growled. “ _ **_Are you one of them, that you’d call me such?_ ** _ ” _

_ Anders wanted to scream, but couldn’t. It was like a waking paralysis, able to see and hear but unable to react or respond on his own. Justice’s grip was firm, leaving Anders a fragment that’d been cast aside from the whole. _

_ He felt Hawke approach from behind, laying a soft but firm hand on his shoulder. _

_ “Anders, that girl is a mage,” she said, her voice soft to reassure the man he couldn’t be in that moment. “We rescued her from being made Tranquil.” _

_ The blue haze that clouded Anders’s mind lifted a fraction. He was pushing against it, but it was like slamming into a stone wall. The sight of the Templars threatening the girl with Tranquility had pushed Justice over the edge. All Anders could do was keep wrestling with him for control.  _

_ “ _ **_She is theirs. I can feel their hold on her._ ** _ ” _

_ Justice’s rage was a wildfire. Anders’s blood was hot, like he was boiling from the inside. It made him want to cry out, but he couldn’t let up his fight for even a second, afraid of what Justice would make him do if he did. So he kept throwing himself against the spirit’s will, hoping he’d break through. _

_ “She’s the reason you’re fighting, Anders,” Hawke said, her tone growing firm. “Don’t turn on her now.” _

_ The girl put her hands up in front of her, eyes fixated on him in terror. _

Stop! We don’t want this!

_ He screamed at Justice - who had wholly dissolved into Vengeance - but his voice was choked in the fiery blue haze of the spirit’s anger, smothering him as if he were being snuffed from existence. _

Let her go! Please!

_ He managed to choke out a plea before the blue fire threatened to suffocate him. Justice lifted the staff over his head. _

_ “Please, Messere,” the girl pleaded, a helpless attempt at saving her own life. _

_ It took all of Anders’s strength to wrench away control. The blue fire faded before he could bring the staff down on her. Instead he let it clatter to the side as he bent over, burying his face in his hands. Ella bolted for the tunnel’s exit before he could compose himself. _

_ “Maker, no,” he said, watching Ella flee. He turned to Hawke. “If you weren’t here…” _

_ She watched him with a mix of distress and concern that made him want to bury himself in the deepest hole he could find. In a fit of desperation and terror, he did the only sensible thing in that moment: he ran like Ella until he collapsed onto the ground in his clinic, gasping with sobs. _

_ He was certain that Hawke nor anyone would want him around, that’d he’d be on the run again, like most of his life. _

**You’re a monster, you know. She’ll never love you.**

Anders blinked out of his daze. For once, he couldn’t tell if the vision as well as the voice was conjured by him or Justice. All of it felt unbidden, like it’d been planted by some phantom hand. Was he losing control again?

A sudden thought twisted his gut. What if he turned on Hawke? If he’d almost killed an innocent girl, what would stop him from killing her when he had the least amount of control? He began to tremble, as if struck by a breeze.

_ No, no, you can’t think that _ , he told himself.  _ She said she’d help you control it. Two minds are better than one in this. _

He took in a shaky breath. The last thing he needed right now was for Hawke to find him on her doorstep in the throes of a panic attack. He’d had plenty of those after Ella.

At this point, turning around and forgetting this night had happened was no easy task. He hadn’t lied to Hawke when he said he couldn’t live without what was brewing between them. All the nights he’d lain awake, wishing she was curled up beside him so he didn’t have to wrestle with his paranoia alone. All the days he spent at her side, watching her strut in front of him and the others, musing on the idea of reaching out to hold her hand.

Anders sighed. It was the better option, but he didn’t think he could return to that life of endless pining after the moment they’d shared earlier that day. It would probably be worse than before. And her open door was a beacon, a light he hadn’t seen in years.

Unless she’d finally taken his warning and decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. His heart sank at the thought. It was his warning, and even though it wasn’t without reason, he wished he hadn’t said it. The thought of pushing her away, of completely cutting her out of his life, made his heart race.

_ There’s only one way to find out _ , he reminded himself.  _ Maker, help me... _

With a sweaty palm he gripped the doorknob. It turned, clicked, and swung open to reveal the sparsely decorated entryway of her estate. His relief was overwhelming as well as troubling. It meant he truly wanted this, and that whatever happened, there’d be no turning back.

He made his way into the main room, the fireplace to his right crackling as usual. It wasn’t his first visit. There’d been several instances where he’d come to observe Sandal’s enchanting, which both fascinated and baffled him. It would take several scholars to figure out how a dwarf could work lyrium the way that boy could. 

The estate, however, was empty; no Bodhan or Sandal to greet him as usual, and he wondered if anyone was really home. Perhaps Isabela had picked the locks again and was snooping through Hawke’s private effects this very moment. Or maybe there’d been a burglary, not as common as in Lowtown, but not unheard of. He began to feel uneasy.

The idea was crushed, however, at the sight of Gristle. The Mabari lied at the bottom of the stairs to the upper floor, yawning as if he'd woken from a nap. If anyone had broken in, the hound would’ve been on edge. Instead he perked up at the sight of Anders, his stumpy tail penduluming as he emitted a happy bark.

“Sssshhh.” Anders placed a finger to his lips. “You know it's me, quiet down.”

Gristle ignored his plea and raced towards him, shoving his nose into one of Anders’s palms and grazing it with his tongue. 

“Hey!” Anders yelped, backing away. Gristle tilted his head, giving him a curious look. 

“We’ve been over this already,” he said, wiping his hand on his robes. “I’m a cat person. I don’t want any of your slobbery affection.”

Gristle whimpered, then howled as if he’d suffered a fatal wound.

“Oh, don’t you start with me. You know I won’t fall for it.” 

Anders shook his head as Gristle continued howling like a nail had dug itself into one of his paws. Maker knows he'd never understand Fereldan’s obsession with Mabari. Sure, they were clever - but they were also essentially four-legged toddlers: manipulative and dramatic whenever they didn’t get their way.

“You heard him. Leave the poor man alone.”

Anders looked up to see Hawke at the top of the stairs, dressed in her finery and her hair a mass of auburn curls untamed by her usual ponytail. She waved a hand at Gristle as if she were swatting a fly.

“Go lie down,” she said, her tone firm but retaining her usual playfulness. “I’m sure there’s plenty of doggy things to dream about.”

Gristle replied with a low whine before returning to his spot near the stairs, resting his head between his paws and staring at Anders with longing.

“You’re here,” Hawke said as she looked down at Anders, her voice tinged with relief. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

_ Neither did I _ , he thought, gut twisting with guilt as he remembered his attempts at turning back.

“Well, your door’s open, isn’t it?” he said. “At least I'm true to my word. Most of the time.”

Hawke wasn’t impressed. She placed both hands on her hips, frowning as if he’d kicked her dog. 

“Took you long enough. I was about ready to say ‘sod it’ and hit the hay early for once.”

Anders chuckled. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”

“Doesn’t mean you couldn’t have hurried your ass up,” she said, narrowing her eyes.   
  


He offered a shrug in response. “Had some last minute patients to deal with. Otherwise, I would’ve come sooner.”

She laughed, flashing him a wide grin.

“I’m giving you shit,” she said. “I thought you would’ve caught on by now.”

There was a pause between them, as Anders was at a loss for what to say. It struck him again that this was finally happening - whatever this turned out to be. He couldn’t help but imagine what would happen if the Templars found out she was with an apostate, the image of the hangman’s noose dangling in his mind. His thoughts were cut off when she threw up her hands. 

“Well, don’t just stand there gaping at me,” she said in mock annoyance. “Make yourself at home.”

* * *

He followed her to her bedroom, the only place in the estate he’d never been. It was a square room, sparsely decorated and organized, a stark contrast to the clutter of Gamlen’s place. A fireplace crackled in the far left of the room, an exact twin of the one downstairs. Shadows danced across Hawke’s face as she turned to him, her skin tinged orange from the fire’s glow.

“Seriously, though, I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “If you hadn’t come, I’d be out looking for you.”

A small grin tugged at his lips. Knowing she cared that much about his presence made his heart skip. 

“I know you would,” Anders said, stepping closer to her. His tone grew more serious as he recalled the image of Ella from earlier and the doubt it casted in his mind. 

“Justice doesn’t approve of my obsession with you,” he continued, his grin falling. “It’s one of the few things on which he and I disagree.”

Hawke studied him with narrowed eyes. “So he… what? Doesn’t want you here?”

Anders nodded. “More or less.”

She crossed her arms, throwing him her best eye roll. “Not to be an ass, but Justice can bite my garters.”

He chuckled. “I gave him a similar sentiment.”

Anders paused, knowing he was ruining the mood, but an explanation for why he’d never acted on his desires was mandatory. Besides, the least he could do was give her one more chance to run away.

“My feelings for you,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been carrying them around for a while. I was hoping they’d eventually run their course, but...”

She shook her head. “Why though? I don’t understand.” 

Guilt moored in his gut like an anchor. He wanted to scoop her into his arms, reassure her that he never meant to hurt her. He was just a man paralyzed by his own weakness. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. This was harder than he originally thought. 

“I know how that sounds. I should’ve been more up front with you, but…”

An image of Karl flashed in his mind, making him look away.

“When I was in the Circle,” he said, remembering his failed attempt to save the mage, “love was only a game. It gave the Templars too much power if there was something you couldn’t stand to lose.”

His eyes widened as Karl’s voice rang his head like a passing bell.

_ “I knew you’d come, Anders.” _

Karl’s monotone was a dagger that sank into his gut, a stark reminder of the Templars’ hold over him and all other mages. 

_ “I was too rebellious, just like you.”  _

Anders closed his eyes. He couldn’t lose himself now. Not in front of her.

“So, you’re saying the mages weren’t allowed to love?” she asked, thankfully not noticing him grappling with his own ghosts. Or at least pretending not to.

“Have you heard of any weddings in the Circle of Magi?” he said, narrowing his eyes at her question. It still baffled him how no one outside the Circle knew what it was really like. “In the Chantry’s eyes, mages are inhuman, barely worthy of living. Why trust a mage to start a family when they can fall prey to demons at any moment?”

Anders clenched his fists, remembering all the lies the Templars and Senior Enchanters spat at all the mages.

"Your magic is both a blessing and a curse," they'd repeated to him and the other apprentices, a dogma that would be branded into his mind like the Rite of Tranquility. "One slip, and any one of you could become an abomination. This is why we keep you here in the tower, where you are safe. With the threat of demons, freedom is a death sentence."

The memory of Ferelden's Circle - of the Templars' oppressing gaze and rampant paranoia - made Justice raise his head, his anger surfacing on the edge of Anders's consciousness.

_ Stay in control _ , he reminded himself. The fear of Justice taking over now hung over him like a guillotine. He needed to show her he was not the abomination he feared.

“So you’ve never had anyone special, then?” she said.

He looked down at his feet. “That’s not... strictly true.”

In his mind, the memory of Karl turned to face him, revealing his blank stare along with the swollen, red sun branded onto his forehead. The sight of him had felt like a blow to the gut.

“Before you, it was Karl,” he said, bidding the image to leave. The name was strange to say, as if he was pronouncing a foreign word. It seemed an age since the man’s name passed his lips. “We had to be discrete. Every moment together meant we were in danger, but we could still forget that we were just slaves to the Templars. We weren’t together very long, but it still hurt, losing him like that.”

Remembering Karl’s eyes growing blank as Anders sank the dagger into his heart brought all his fears bubbling to the surface. It was almost worse that Hawke wasn’t a mage; the Templars would threaten him with her life instead of the Brand.

Karl's image was replaced with a dead Hawke limp in his arms, staring up at him with the same blank expression. His hands began to tremble.

“It would kill me to lose you,” he said, looking away as if his gaze would manifest his fears. Would being close to anyone harbor comfort? Or would it always choke him with fear?

Hawke shook her head, taking a step forward. “This isn’t going to fix that."

Without thinking, he looked at her again as the scent of jasmine and vanilla filled his nostrils, making his heart pound. This was the closest he’d been to her since their first kiss in his clinic, the result of a ravenous hunger that had stirred in him like a coiled snake. He would have gone on kissing her like that for hours had they been in a less conspicuous place. That same hunger rose its head again, begging to be fed. 

A dead Hawke danced in his mind like a hanged man on a noose. What was to stop that from happening to her? Was it worth the pain he’d bring?

_You’re a danger to her, either way,_ he told himself, as much as he wished it wasn’t true. Just associating with him made her a target - for Templars or any one else who wished him dead. It’d surprised him that he’d stuck around so long.

But he couldn’t just leave. If he did, the first person the Templars would interrogate would be her. The thought of them tearing down her door and beating a confession out of her made his throat tight and fists clench. He would drown himself in blood before they could lay a finger on her.

He couldn’t tell if his excuse to protect her was a way to make him feel better, but for all she’d done for him, the least he could do was shield her from the potential dangers he carried, whether from Justice or the Templars.

The trembling in his hands only worsened as he reached to touch her face. As much as he ached for this moment, he felt as if he was leading her to her execution. Why did love and fear have to be so intertwined?

_ I’m sorry _ , he said to himself, and to her.  _ For whatever happens, I am so, so sorry. _

“No mage I know has ever dared to fall in love,” he said, half expecting her to back away. She stood still, closing her eyes as he ran a thumb over her cheekbone.“This is the rule I will most cherish breaking.”

He leaned in, locking his lips with hers. The desire that hungered in his chest turned into a glowing warmth that surged through his body.

_ Home _ … The word repeated in his mind like an incantation.  _ This is what home feels like. _

It was a word that he thought he’d never relate to, but her touch made him feel rooted, like he’d been cemented into the floor. It was as if all his trepidation had been shattered by her lips, her grip on his arm, her body leaning into his. Perhaps all his running was meant to find her - a foolish thought for lovestruck boys, but it was comforting to think all the hardships he endured hadn't been for nothing.

She broke away to take his hand, leading him backwards onto her bed. He sank into her arms as she pulled him on top of her, locking lips again as he pressed his body into hers. Having her this close was a greater gift than standing at The Maker’s side. He'd resigned himself to the fact that this scenario would never exist outside his fantasies, yet her desire was evident in the way her tongue explored the crevices of his mouth, the way she held him like a cherished lover. What a fool he’d been to assume she never shared his feelings.

She raked her hand through the feathers of his pauldrons before resting on the clasp in the front, undoing it with a thumb and forefinger. He shrugged them off like a cloak, tossing them to the side. The rest of his robes, however, would not be undone so easily. His hands fumbled with the front buckles, aching to undo them but unable to break away from her. Each one was a roadblock, an annoyance that stole his attention from Hawke. In contrast, her finery slipped off as easy as silk, revealing her rustic brown skin underneath. The sight of her naked under him made him even more desperate.

“Troubles?” she said, watching him struggle with the many buckles of his robes.

He sighed, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it. Had he known how the night would end, he would’ve dressed down from his usual attire. 

“Help would be appreciated, I think,” he said, letting his hand slip from his robes.

She tapped his side, bidding him to get off her. They sat together on the edge of her bed as she swung his leg onto her lap.

“Perhaps wear something more practical next time,” she said, unfastening his boot. “Maybe something with less buckles.”

He laughed. “You may be right.”

They worked together until his robes were undone, an act that felt as intimate as a kiss or embrace. Before Karl, he couldn’t fathom being this close to someone. In the Circle, intimacy was just a game. Who would get caught rutting in a supply closet, and who would be able to slip away unseen? Who could sleep with the most people in one night before the Templars caught on? It was a sport to counteract the drabness and oppression permeating the Circle.

Having her unfasten his robes as she peppered him with kisses was a reminder of the biggest rule he was breaking. Getting close to anyone as a mage was a risk, to both him and her. It made his anxiety spike, but it also made him more desperate to savor the moment, letting his hands roam every inch of her, tracing every mole and bump on her skin. If only he knew how to pause time, like the Tevinter magisters of old, so he could trace every inch of her body until it was as familiar as his own. 

“Getting impatient, are we?” she said as he brushed his fingers through her mass of auburn curls.

He tucked a strand behind her ear. “You’re not really going to blame me for that, are you?” he said. “You’re absolutely beautiful, and you know it.”

She eyed him with one brow raised. “Is this going to turn into awkward compliments again?”

Anders chuckled, remembering that night at the clinic where she’d tried to offer a few kind words, but he could only respond by fumbling over his own. 

“Hopefully not,” he replied, shaking his head over his own awkward blunder. “I just thought it needed to be said.”

As she undid the last of his robes, she gazed at him with half-lidded eyes. 

“You know I love it when you call me beautiful,” she purred, sliding his robes off his shoulders and laying a hand on his bare chest. She traced a line down to the button of his pants.

“I know,” he said, a small grin tugging his lips. “And I’ve kept that in mind.”

She undid the button as deftly as a lock. “Is that so? Yet I don’t think you’ve told me enough.”

He bit his lip as she grabbed hold of him, rubbing her thumb in circles around his tip. It made him twitch.

“Oh?” he said, pulling her onto his lap. “Then allow me to make up for that.”

He leaned into her, brushing his lips against her neck. Sighing, she threw her head back to allow more access as he trailed kisses down to her collar bone, her hips rocking gently into him. 

She shovedd him back down, straddling him before pressing her lips into his. They stayed like this for an uncertain amount of time, not that Anders could focus on anything besides the pulsing of her hips and the mildewy sensation of her tongue. He broke away only to bid her to move up towards his face, guiding her with a hand clasped on her ass. She abided, pressing herself against his lips, her warmth and wetness coating his stubble. Breathing in her musky scent, he grazed her with his tongue, feeling her shudder as he gripped her thighs.

It’d been a while since he tasted a woman. She was musky-sweet, like sipping a red wine; he wanted to drink her in, lap her up until she was left gasping. His tongue traced her entryway, soaking up her wetness before flicking the bean-shaped mound above. She tensed, back arched as he began to lightly suck her clit.

Her tangy scent and taste was all he could focus on as she pressed into him, twisting her hands in his hair and mewling. He sighed into her, her moans baiting his desire. Squeezing her thighs, he grazed the inside of her, tasting the dampness coating her slick walls.

“Fuck,” she said, gripping his hair. She was about to say more before it was drowned by another high-pitched mewl. Pulling herself back, she sat down on his chest, gasping.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No,” she breathed. “Absolutely fucking nothing is wrong. I just… you’re better than I thought.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

She grinned down at him. “Only that you’re going to make me finish before we even have sex.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You act like that wasn’t my plan all along.”

Smacking his shoulder, she laughed. “Ass.” 

Her expression grew tender as she studied him.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time, you know,” she said, cupping his face in her hand. He hummed as her thumb caressed his cheekbone. 

“So have I,” he said, tilting his head into her touch.

Her hair became auburn curtains as she bent over him, obscuring everything from his vision except her.

“You’re not the only one who’s been holding back, you know,” she said, brushing his nose with hers before planting a kiss firmly on his lips. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

* * *

  
Their love-making was slow, tender, with no rush for it to end. They lay enveloped in each other, with Hawke's legs wrapped around his middle as he bucked into her, his pace measured and deliberate - afraid that if he quickened at all, he’d finish too soon. The warmth of her pulsating walls was enticing, though, like slipping into a glove filled with warm oil. It was torture not to thrust deeper into the sensation. All the while he kept his eyes locked onto hers, mesmerized by how she looked underneath him - auburn hair pooled across her pillow, lips parting with each moan and sigh. She looked as if she’d stepped out of an Orlesian painting.

It was a melding, a meshing, with him inside her and their bodies intertwined. She was a home, a reprieve from all the threats in Kirkwall. It was like he’d been enveloped in tunnel vision; all he could see and feel was her warmth, her doe-eyed gaze. He didn’t want it to end. When it did, it’d mean having to return to sleepless nights of paranoia, fearing who’d raid his clinic next to arrest or kill him. This was perhaps the first time in what felt like ages he’d lain in any bed without fear, with Hawke drowning him in a comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It was almost surreal. When he was palling around with her, she was the sarcastic rogue that took everything about as seriously as a twelve year old boy. Now, though, there were no witty words falling from her lips like he expected, no impish grin that belied her teasing. She only looked at him with an awe that matched his own, pupils wide like spilled ink. It occurred to him that this was the Hawke beyond what she had everyone believe. If he had known sooner how she truly felt…

“Anders,” she half-moaned. The sound of his name passing her lips made his heart flutter. Her hands roved through his hair, now loose from the band keeping his ponytail. 

“Don’t ever leave.” Her grip tightened, afraid to let go. “If the Templars find you...”

He remembered the image of her lifeless body from earlier and cut her off with a ravenous kiss, not wanting to be reminded of the danger he was putting her in. Not after he’d half-convinced himself he could protect them both. He didn’t need another reason to run away, when she was the only thing he wanted to run towards.

“Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, pressing his forehead into hers. The image of Hawke dancing on the noose fashioned from his own precariousness swayed in his mind like a doll on strings. He gritted his teeth. “They’d have to drag me from you.” 

He raked his fingers through her hair, burying his face next to hers - yet the image stayed, burned like an afterimage behind his eyes as he closed them shut. For one moment, he wished he could be happy, to feel something other than the paranoia that gripped him outside Hawke’s presence. Tears stung behind his eyes - born out of frustration with himself and desperation to think of anything else. Even during sex he was hounded by fear.

He wanted to growl, to gnash his teeth at his own stupid mind for keeping him in its paranoid clutches. Instead, he picked his head up to gaze at Hawke, distracting himself by studying the way her eyes fluttered as he continued to thrust inside her.

_ They will never take you from me _ , he said to Hawke silently as he cupped her face. He wanted every fiber of his being to believe those words. As she watched him study her, Anders couldn’t tell if she knew what he was thinking, but then she reached to lightly stroke his cheek.

“Anders,” she said, causing his heart to flutter again like birds’ wings. “You don’t have to worry anymore. Stay here with me.”

She pressed into him, squeezing him tighter with her thighs. If only it were that simple - all his problems erased just by being with her. He knew what happened to those harboring apostates in Kirkwall. 

_ You’re ruining her life _ , a voice said to him, cruel and chilling like winter. He couldn’t take it anymore. Even during pleasurable moments, he couldn’t shake the thought of how he or Hawke could die, as if the Templars had a grip on his desires too.

He gritted his teeth, unable to contain himself. 

_ Fuck off _ , he told the voice, and the Dead Hawke, too, like casting a curse. He cupped her lips in his, quickening his pace inside her. She moaned into his mouth, dragging her nails down his back. The sensation was like a hot knife searing through the cloud of death and Templars in his mind, making him groan. It brought up all the memories of her - the way she laughed whenever she teased him, her pinpoint focus while picking a lock, the way her blades danced in battle as she quick-stepped from one enemy to the next. It reminded him of the hunger that overcame him in his clinic as he pinned her against a wall, tasting the softness of her lips for the first time.

The desire she awakened in him, even now, almost drove him feral.

A pressure grew inside him as he fucked her, making him moan. His limbs were tingling and his thoughts were a haze, as if he’d overdosed on lyrium. If he could think straight, he’d tell her how much he loved her, how much light she'd brought into his life. All he could do was lose himself in her, enveloping himself in the wetness leaking between her thighs.

She curled into him, pressing her head against his chest and mewling. He squeezed his eyes shut, his mind humming as the pressure grew overwhelming.

_ I love you. _

If he had said the words out loud, they would’ve tumbled from his mouth in a wave of passion. Instead he gasped as the pressure released and spilled into her, making him shudder. His limbs felt like jelly, and it took everything in him not to collapse on top of her.

All the while she rubbed his back as he composed himself, face still buried in his chest. He pulled back to kiss her another time, both shaking and sweating, gasping for breath.

“Maker, that…” She ran a hand over his chest as she inhaled deeply. “Well, usually I’d say we’d go for round two, but that was… incredible. And exhausting.

He buried his face next to hers as they both laughed

"I meant what I said, though," she said, her tone growing serious. She turned her head to look at him, eyes burning with resolution. "You shouldn't have to face the Templars alone."

He caressed her cheek, a faint smile tugging his lips.

"I know," he said before kissing her forehead. He wished he could come up with a good argument to deter her from helping him, but past experience proved it'd be futile. She'd scowl at his protests, fixing him with narrow eyes.

"Tough shit," she'd say. "You're stuck with me, mage - whether you like it or not."

The thought of it made him chuckle.

"What? What's so funny?"

He shook his head, pulling her closer. Perhaps her stubbornness was why he loved her.

"Nothing," he said. "Absolutely nothing at all."

As he held her, a warmth filled his body that made him sigh as he combed her hair with his fingers. He felt loose, as if the exhaustion had wrung out all the tension in his body. Closing his eyes, an idea struck him before he lapsed into sleep, one he would've chastised himself for if he had the energy. Perhaps there were worse ways to ruin his life than falling in love.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Good lord this took for-fucking-ever, but I'm glad I'm at least satisfied with what I wrote. This is my first time actually writing a sex scene, so I hope it turned out okay enough? Anyways, whoever reads this, I hope they enjoy it. It feels good to be back in the swing of writing.


End file.
